


Chalon

by romanticalgirl



Series: Cardiff [3]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To where his heart is</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chalon

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to [Deithio](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/431477.html) and [Cartref](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/433430.html), though I don't know that you need to read them to get what's going on here. Set right before Ioan heads off to America.
> 
> Originally posted 4-7-07

He doesn’t knock, but Matthew knows he’s there, standing in the open doorway. He can feel him, sense him. They’ve lived together for over ten years now. He knows him by heart.

“You going to come in, boyo?”

Ioan shrugs as Matthew finally looks up. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans and his t-shirt’s just this side of rumpled and he looks like he fell out of bed not five minutes before. “Can’t just walk in. Not my home.”

Matthew frowns, eyebrows drawing together. He speaks in Welsh, refusing to let Ioan look away from him. “Wherever I am, you’re home.”

Ioan laughs, lightening the mood as he walks in, looking around the flat. He’s been shooting something while his mother and sister pack up his life to move back to Cardiff or move to Los Angeles. They got a decent bit for the flat, and they’re both settled enough that Matthew’s got his own place, and Ioan’s talking of buying a small house across the pond. It’s all very grown up, all very mature.

“So you’re back.”

“Had to get that last bit of Hornblower under my belt,” Ioan heads straight for the kitchen, and the clink of bottles lets Matthew know that there’s beer in his future. He scrubs a hand through his over-long hair and shifts the box from the davenport to the coffee table. “Nice flat.”

“You’ve seen a pile of boxes and the smallest kitchen in the world.”

Ioan laughs and brings the beers out, settling next to Matthew on the sofa. “Well, I’m assuming there’s more. And you look fairly settled in.”

“That’s because all I had to unpack in the kitchen was a case of beer, two plates, a fork, a knife and a pot.”

“All I noticed was the beer. Makes the place look lived in.” He laughs and clinks his bottle against Matthew’s. “Here we go, boyo. Real world.”

“Had to grow up some time.”

“That’s the rumour.” Ioan stretches his long legs out, closing his eyes as he lets his head fall back on the sofa. “How are we to do this, Matthew?”

“You just do. You go on. Where we live’s not to change anything really. Still best mates.” He rubs a spot on his jeans, avoiding Ioan’s eyes. “How was the shoot?”

“Different.” He sighs. “Beyond the other aspect of it, felt odd not shooting it with Jamie. I mean, felt…maybe it was good. Felt more grown up.” He moves his leg over to bump Matthew’s. “We’ve broken it off.”

“Oh?”

“Well, officially…I guess. Not that it was ever official at all anyway. Just…going different places, doing different things. Not to say it couldn’t happen again, but we’re…well, we’re friends, aren’t we? That’s the best thing, you know. Being friends. Before, during and after.”

“Yeah?”

“Can have lovers any time.” He shrugs and shifts again, resting his head on Matthew’s shoulder. “You were right, you know.”

“Was I?” Matthew’s not sure what Ioan’s trying to say, only that he’s not actually saying anything yet. “About what?”

“Needing a lover. Needing a friend.” He shrugs, not moving otherwise. “Would it have been so bad though, do you think?”

Matthew reaches over, taking Ioan’s hand in his. He feels the long fingers tangle with his own and holds the heat between their palms. “No. But it would have been for the wrong reasons, mate. And that would have been bad.” He closes his eyes, turning his head slightly to press a soft kiss to Ioan’s head. “We’ve done all right for the past two years, Ioan. It’s been good.”

Ioan nods again then lifts his head, looks at Matthew carefully. “Would it be so bad?”

Matthew can see the fear and excitement in Ioan’s eyes. There’s something in the balance, something tenuous and frightening between them and Matthew sighs softly, unable to hold the sound in. “I’ll always be your best friend, Ioan. No matter where you are. Even when you’re rich and famous and wish I would shove off and leave you alone.”

“Won’t happen, Matthew. Not ever.” Ioan reaches up with his free hand and traces Matthew’s cheek with his thumb. There’s a strange roughness to his hands, and Matthew remembers it from before after the Hornblower shoots – rope and wood and wool that takes some of the softness out of his touch. “Say yes.”

Matthew licks his lips, caught in the intensity of Ioan’s gaze. His breath is tight in his throat, caught somewhere around the heavy beat of his heart. He swallows and closes his eyes, inhaling, trying to think, to breathe. In the end, he does neither, simply leans in and finds Ioan’s mouth with his own.

Ioan makes a noise Matthew’s never heard before, and he answers with a low groan in response. Ioan’s mouth is warm and wet and sinful, tastes like beer and chocolate and _Ioan_ , and Matthew sinks into the taste of it, exploring him with his tongue. Ioan’s hand slides from Matthew’s cheek into his hair, and Matthew sets his hand on Ioan’s chest, unsure if he should push him away or draw him closer.

Breaking away to breathe, Ioan whispers Matthew’s name and kisses him again, taking control this time. Matthew’s hand fists in Ioan’s shirt and then relaxes, his fingers inching their way up to Ioan’s collar, to his neck. Ioan moans against Matthew’s mouth and pulls away, both of them panting in the space between them.

“M-Matthew.” Ioan’s voice is low and rough and Matthew feels his breath catch again. He feels drunk and alive and scared to death, a typical combination when he’s out at the pub with Ioan, though not one he’s used to like this.

His own voice is low, nearly unrecognizable to his ears. “What’re we doing here, Ioan?”

“Just…just want…” Ioan kisses him again, and Matthew knows, somehow, that this is nothing to do with being alone or being lonely, and everything to do with who they are and what they are and what they might become. He knows it’s a farewell and a forever, and so many things all at once. He and Ioan are good at being everything for one another.

Matthew leans in and Ioan shifts and they’re lying against one another, Matthew’s weight atop Ioan. He nearly laughs at how easy it is, then groans instead as he feels Ioan against him, his legs parting to cradle Matthew’s body, his cock hard against Matthew’s own, even through two layers of denim. “Jesus,” he breathes into Ioan’s mouth, his hips reacting, rolling against Ioan’s.

He thinks it should be strange, how easy it is to kiss him, to touch him, to slide his hand beneath Ioan’s t-shirt and feel the heat of his skin, but it’s not. It makes sense that it’s not – they’ve seen each other at their best and worst, been together longer than some married couples as all the articles about them like to say – but he still feels like there should be something that’s flaring with that awkwardness that all first moments have.

“Think too much,” Ioan murmurs against Matthew’s neck, lips and tongue and teeth distracting Matthew easily from his thoughts. Matthew laughs, the sound rough and husky, and nods, seeking out Ioan’s mouth again. “Is good, Matthew.”

He nods again at the assurance, stealing another kiss from Ioan’s swollen lips. It is good, better than, he knows as Ioan’s hands slide down his back and urge Matthew closer. They move together like they’ve done this before, knowing the shifts and moves of each other’s bodies and touches. Ioan’s mouth is dark and warm and hungry, and Matthew matches him kiss for kiss, his hands busy discovering skin.

Ioan makes another noise and Matthew pulls back, blinking rapidly. He makes a noise of his own looking down at his best friend, at the eyes gone black with desire, the wet, swollen mouth rimmed red from Matthew’s ever-present stubble. He reaches out, running his hand over Ioan’s lower lip then leans in and kisses him softly, a barely-there glance across his mouth.

“You want to see the rest of the flat?” His voice is nothing like his own, but he manages to get the words out somehow.

Ioan doesn’t look away, just smiles and it’s innocent and wicked all at once. “Can we start with the bedroom?”

Matthew laughs once and pulls away, easing off of Ioan’s body. He lets his gaze rake over his best friend, seeing him through different eyes for the first time. There’s a sort of sprawled abandon to Ioan’s posture to match the heat in his eyes. Matthew reaches out a hand to him, tugging Ioan up to his feet, pulling him close. “You say that like there’s something more than that to see.”

“Never know with you, Rhys.”

Matthew shakes his head and kisses him again. “Liar,” he whispers, leading the way to the other room. “You always know.”

**

Matthew’s never thought about how this would be, how it might go on the random chance he’d find himself alone in his bedroom with his best friend, contemplating having sex. Not that he’s contemplating so much as he’s kissing Ioan while Ioan drags Matthew’s shirt off of him, tossing it away in the pile of boxes, likely never to be seen again. Matthew shivers from cold and heat and the closeness of Ioan and the fact that this is happening at all.

Ioan shirt gets the same treatment, Matthew’s hands sliding it up and off of him, though Ioan grabs it at the last and lets it fall. They’ve seen each other naked, but Matthew’s never really looked, though he knows there are differences. He feels them now, Ioan’s smooth skin against his own hairier chest. The hard brush of Ioan’s nipples, the only swell in the flat chest. Matthew groans, letting his hand slide down Ioan’s stomach, feeling the dark trail of hair that starts just above his navel, stroking through the silky strands until he finds Ioan’s fly.

There’s a surreal slowness to it all, like the blokes on the damn documentaries Ioan always watches, sifting through archeological finds with tiny brushes and infinite patience. He garners a new appreciation for the technique as Ioan unfastens his fly, slides the zipper down and eases his hand into Matthew’s jeans, long fingers stroking lightly over the swell of Matthew’s flesh. He can’t help the low moan that echoes the motion, can’t stop the thrust of his hips.

“Want you, Matthew,” Ioan whispers against his mouth, and Matthew can’t help but nod, whisper it back, words between them where they’ve not needed them before, words he didn’t know he knew.

They fumble for the bed, stripping out of jeans and socks and everything else, sliding against each other in the afternoon light. He looks for the slight imperfections in Ioan’s skin, memorizes them and makes this all real. He touches and strokes, trying to ignore the heat that Ioan’s touch sends racing through him, burning his blood.

There are words, tumbling and nonsensical, both of them with too much to say and emotions that don’t have words, half spoken in English and Welsh, murmured against skin and in kisses. It moves slowly, both of them learning new things in a world where they thought they knew everything. Ioan touches him like he’s unreal and Matthew laughs, light and soft and suddenly aware that this is the moment everything changes.

No questions get asked, they simply move together, fitting themselves to one another. Ioan’s beneath him, his skin burning against Matthew’s. He slides a hand between them, curving it around the length of Ioan’s cock, catching the hard flesh between his hand and his own erection. Ioan arches off the bed, thrusting into him, and Matthew matches him groan for groan as their bodies slide together.

Ioan’s hands stroke Matthew’s back and shoulders, marking trails in his skin down to the curve of his arse. There’s a sense of frantic to it, but mostly it’s the easy glide of sensation, blocking out everything but taste and scent and feel. It’s someone new beneath him, but still Ioan. He recognizes the voice, the whispers. He recognizes everything, though everything’s different now.

He slides his thumb across the head of Ioan’s cock and Ioan arches upward, hips jerking. “Oh, fuck, Matthew.” There’s something in his voice, something that’s close to begging, close to surrender and Matthew kisses him again, not sure he can hear the words. Ioan’s mouth is warm and inviting, and Matthew thinks about losing himself in the heat of it.

Matthew’s hips rock against Ioan’s as Ioan’s hands settle on his arse, holding him tight against him. He stops thinking and just feels, closing his eyes and stroking and thrusting in unison, the slide of Ioan’s cock against his slick and wet. His breath catches and sticks in his throat as it tightens, echoing the other muscles in his body as he feels the heat of Ioan’s orgasm spill against him, tastes the pleasure Ioan gasps into his mouth.

He comes as well, jerking hard against Ioan, breaking what’s left of their kiss to bury his head against Ioan’s neck, groaning against the damp skin. Ioan shivers beneath him, his breath rough and thick against Matthew’s hair. Matthew pulls away slowly, shifting to his knees and not quite looking at Ioan as he climbs off the bed looking for a towel. He stares at the boxes for a moment then grabs two t-shirts out of his drawer, tossing one to Ioan on the bed.

It’s awkward enough without the faint strains of the day filtering in through the dirty windows, and Matthew does his best to keep his eyes averted until Ioan sits up, his back to Matthew, and reaches for his briefs. He tugs on a clean pair of his own and sighs, raking a hand through his sweaty hair.

“So.”

Ioan’s shoulders jerk and he puts a hand to his mouth, barely turning his head to look at Matthew from the corner of his eye. Matthew opens his mouth to say more, stopping as Ioan shakes his head, the corners of his eye crinkling as he bursts out laughing.

“What is so fucking funny?”

He shakes his head again, still laughing, tears bright. Matthew glares at him then bites his lip to keep from smiling, finally giving in and sitting on the bed, laughing right along with him. Ioan lays back, his head against Matthew’s knee, looking up at him. Wet trails run from the corner of his eyes to his hair and Matthew reaches out, wiping his thumb across the streaks.

Ioan’s voice is soft, light with laughter, though his eyes are dark. “Hey, boyo.”

Matthew smiles. “Going to forget all about me in America, mate?”

“Oh yes, soon as I step off the plane.” Ioan nods solemnly then smiles. “Couldn’t forget you if I tried, Rhys. You’re like Wales. Part of me.” He reaches up and runs his finger across Matthew’s lower lip. “Cartref.”

Matthew nods, and then leans down, shifting enough to kiss Ioan softly. It’s different now - not friendship, not lovers, but something in between or maybe something more. “You want to stay for a while?”

“Yeah,” Ioan nods, “but I can’t.”

Matthew nods as well, knowing that Ioan’s got plans in Cardiff for the week, saying goodbye to his family. He pulls back and smiles, his palm warm against Ioan’s chest. He starts to say something, stopping as Ioan shakes his head.

“But I will.”


End file.
